


A Dying Legacy

by ForgottenFace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Horror, Mystery, Next-Gen, Other, Sensitive Topic, Strong Language, action-adventure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 06:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenFace/pseuds/ForgottenFace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a magical disease strikes, the pureblooded families are the only ones infected and the only ones who can save them are muggleborns. Will the purebloods change their minds about their extremist views or are they stupid enough to let their precious pureblood legacy disappear forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Research Institute for Magical Diseases, Moscow, Russia  
  
17 August 2004_   
  
Although it was summer, the sky was covered in dark grey clouds. The institute’s building was located in the far east side of the city, hidden in the woods. Its magnificent late Muscovite period architecture would amaze even the most insignificant Muggle, if they were able to see it.  
  
A white owl flew into the fifth floor window of the institute’s building. It carried an envelope with the initials RIMD written in large, curly crimson letters. The owl landed on the desk in the far and darkest corner of the room.  
  
Behind the desk was a man dressed in a white coat with a tag displaying the name Dr. Grigory Solovyov. His thick glasses reflected the dim light that came through the window, showing the bleak sky as clearly as if the sun had been shining. He was sleeping on the chair, with his head leaned back and mouth hanging open, snoring lightly.  
  
The owl chirped, and the man woke, startled, his paper white skin now illuminated by the light, his brown hair an untidy mess. His beautiful face showed that he was no more than twenty-five years old.  
  
He petted the owl and took the letter. The owl chirped again and flew out the window. The man turned the envelope. On the back side of the envelope his own name was written in the same colour and handwriting as the initials. He tried to open the envelope but it wouldn’t open.  
  
Solovyov examined the envelope for a minute, examining it from every angle, curious as to its contents. He grabbed his wand and buried it in the red solidified wax that kept the envelope closed. It left a black hole in the wax, like a cigarette burn. He tried to open the envelope again and this time he was successful.  
  
He removed the letter from inside, written on new parchment and folded delicately. He carefully unfolded it and read the message that was inside, written in the same curling crimson ink as on the envelope.  
  
It read:    
  
_Dr. Grigory Solovyov,  
  
It has come to my knowledge that you are studying how muggleborns are born with magic.  
  
It has also come to my knowledge that your research has no funds.  
  
I want to help you. My wealth knows no boundaries and I am willing to fund your research, as long as you do something for me, of course. _  
  
The rest of the letter was written in Russian. Grigory Solovyov’s green eyes read the rest of the instructions in disbelief. When he finished reading the letter he grinned with desire.  
________________________________________  
  
 _  
Research Institute for Magical Diseases, Moscow, Russia  
  
19 June 2024_   
  
  
The man in the black travelling cloak contrasted with the pure whiteness of the laboratory.  
  
Almost twenty years had passed since the day that the institute had been nothing more than an under-funded pit of squalor, and in that twenty years it had been dramatically revolutionized. The walls and floors were gleaming white, and carried no trace of the filth that had been there in the past, and the laboratories really were laboratories, with real experiments going on within them. Not that all of them were legal, of course.   
  
Grigory Solovyov had also changed in those twenty years. His hair was now thin and graying, and his beautiful face looked stretched and gaunt. Dark purple rings had formed underneath his eyes, making him look as though he had not slept in weeks. Which, in fact, he had not. He had been busy preparing his little experiment that had been twenty years in the making, the very reason the institute had not become desolate and abandoned. Grigory stared at the cloaked figure standing across from him, his eyes wide open in fear. He held a flask in his left hand and his wand in his right. The flask contained a rich purple liquid that was frothing slightly.  
  
“Give it to me, Solovyov, I am growing impatient,” the man in the black cloak said dryly.   
  
“But it has not been tested yet,” Dr. Solovyov pleaded with a thick Russian accent. “If you give just a bit more time-“  
  
“You have been given enough time already” the cloaked man hissed, raising his wand and pointing to the flask. “Now give it to me, Solovyov!”  
  
 “I just need a few more months-”  
  
The doctor made another feeble attempt to stop the man.  
  
“Enough! Accio flask!” the cloaked man yelled.  
  
“No!”  
  
The flask Dr. Solovyov held in his left hand flew to the left hand of the cloaked figure.  
  
“I do not know if it is ready!”  
  
 He tried reaching the flask before the cloaked man could grab it.  
  
“After twenty years it should be more than ready,” the cloaked figure told him. Solovyov went to argue, to tell him that he did not understand. The contents of the flask could be volatile, and could have the exact opposite effect that they were designed to.   
  
The cloaked man pointed his wand at Dr Solovyov’s chest. He opened his mouth to plead with him, to beg, even, to make him understand before he performed the spell, knowing perfectly what was going to happen to him.   
  
“Avada Kedavra!”  
  
The green flash of light hit the doctor square in the chest, and he fell back onto the spotless white floor, his green eyes now completely grey and his stare cold as ice.


	2. Patient Zero

_Knockturn Alley, London, UK  
  
20 June 2024_   
  
A cloaked man ran through a dark alleyway, with another one following just behind him. They entered a main street, with a sign saying "Knockturn Alley.” The street was just as dark as the side alleyway. Its stone floor of the was covered in big dark puddles that splashed dirty water whenever one of the men stepped in them.  
  
They passed by shops with windows that were so dirty they could barely see inside. Some of them had signs announcing what they were selling, like poisoning candles, shrunken heads and all kinds of dark magic artifacts. Knockturn Alley was indeed crowded causing both men to push the people so that they could pass.  
  
“Hey watch where ye goin’!” a tall, dark haired wizard yelled, showing his crooked teeth. The cloaked man ignored him and kept on running.  
  
He looked over his shoulder, checking to see if his pursuer could still be seen. He turned away and ran into somebody in the alley, crying out as he fell.  
  
There was the sound of glass shattering, and right before the shoppers shocked eyes a small purple cloud formed, coming from the cloaked man’s inside pocket. A circle of people began to form around him, and the people who had not been staring at the incident previously now had their eyes locked on the purple cloud. Some were gasping, other whispering. The man that had been following the man that had fallen pushed through the crowd that was now forming, and pointed his wand at the cloaked man.  
  
“Show yourself!” he demanded, taking a wary, slightly confused glance at the purple cloud before fixing his eyes on the cloaked man.  
  
The people around the two men were staring in amazement at the purple cloud as it slowly faded, and then focused their attention on both men.  
  
“Do as I say!” the man was still pointing his wand at the cloaked man on the ground.  
  
“Since when do I take orders from an Auror?” the cloaked man hissed before disapparating.  
  


* * *

  
  
 _The Hogwarts Express, UK  
  
20 June 2024_   
  
Albus, Rose, Hugo, Lily, Molly and Lucy were sitting in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, heading to King’s Cross.  
  
Another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had ended. For some of the students, including Albus and Rose, that also meant the end of their time there, and the beginning of a new life.  
  
Albus and Rose had made the most of their last year of school with a lot of pranks and sneaking out of the castle, rather than focusing on their impending exams.  
  
Molly was reading The Daily Prophet, while Rose was taking pictures of the rest of the group with the camera her parents had given to her for her birthday.  
  
“When I develop these photos I’ll send them all to you,” Rose said after taking a group photo with Albus, Hugo, Lily and Lucy all making funny faces. “Molly, why don’t you join us for some pictures?”  
  
Molly peaked up from the newspaper looking a little annoyed for being interrupted. She looked exactly like her father, except for the brown and straight hair that she must have inherited from her mother. “I’m reading the news.” She said it like it was the most obvious thing the world. After giving Rose a stern look she turned back to her newspaper and began to immerse herself in it once more.  
  
Rose frowned and rolled her eyes, greatly resembling her mother, a trait that she greatly wished she had not inherited. Her bushy, dark-red hair, round freckled face and brown eyes was a mixture of the Granger and Weasley genes. “Don’t be so uptight Molly. You’re young, live life a little.”  
  
“It’s my life.” Molly went back to reading the Daily Prophet.  
  
Lucy looked at Rose and shrugged.  
  
“Albus, my dear and beloved cousin,” Rose turned to Albus, putting her arm over his shoulders and grinning. “Do you feel like doing some pranks?”  
  
“Well Rosie, my sweet, I’m always up for a prank,” Albus laughed, and the others joined in the laughter.  
  
“Shouldn’t you read the newspaper Rose? You want to be a journalist, don’t you?” Molly interrupted the laughter. She was staring at her cousin with her arms crossed sternly over her chest, looking like a fifty year old in a teenager’s body. The Daily Prophet was folded in the seat next to her. “I am sure you have to read the news, to know how to write them.”  
  
Rose narrowed her eyes. “I want to be a freelance journalist, Molly. That means I will write about what I want, when I want, and to whom I want.”  
  
“I have no doubts you will be very successful at that” Molly took a book from inside her bag and hid behind it.   
  
“Oh, give me that...” Rose picked the journal from the seat, unfolded it and opened it to a random page. “... You fun ‘ruiner.’ Let’s see – this seems interesting. Russian Scientist Murdered.”  
  
Molly closed her book and looked at Rose. The rest of the group looked at her with curiosity. Rose cleared her throat dramatically, before reading.  
  


  


_RUSSIAN SCIENTIST MURDERED_

  


_  
Russian scientist Dr. Gregory Solovyov was found dead yesterday morning in his laboratory at the Research Institute for Magical Diseases in Moscow, Russia._

_One of his co-workers, who refused to give us an interview, found him dead at 10 o’clock yesterday morning in his laboratory. Russian Aurors refuse to give any statements as of yet, but Daily Prophet’s reliable sources have confirmed that Dr. Solovyov was murdered with the killing curse. The Aurors are still examining the crime scene for any sign of the perpetrator._

_Dr. Gregory Solovyov, 44, was researching the source of the Muggleborns magic, for the last twenty years. Some of his co-workers say he was in the process of publishing his findings._

_This is a sad day for magical science. The founding of how Muggleborns are magical is one of the most important in magical history._

_Dr. Solovyov will be buried this Saturday at 10 am, at the East Moscow Cemetery_.

  
“Happy now, Molly?” Rose folded the Daily Prophet and put it back on the seat next to Molly. “I think my mum will like to read this doctor’s findings.”  
  
Molly glared at Rose and began reading the book.  
   
  


* * *

  
 _Unknown Location, UK  
  
20 June 2024_   
  
“You idiot!” a masked, cloaked figure hissed.   
  
In the centre of the small gathering was another cloaked figure, on his knees with his head bowed low. He looked up when the other man had hissed at him, waiting for his punishment.  
  
The group was in a dungeon. The floor, walls and ceiling were made of stone like a cave. There were some torches lit that gave the place a macabre look. The faint sound of drops of water falling could be heard in the distance, echoing off of the stone walls.   
  
The five people in the group cast glances back and forth between the man in the middle and the man shouting at him.  
  
“I didn’t-” the cloaked man in the middle of the circle tried to say, but started coughing before he could finish the sentence. “ I didn’t – I – I didn’t know there would be Aurors in Knockturn Alley.”  
  
“It’s common knowledge that Aurors have been monitoring Knockturn Alley for years!” a woman’s voice came from behind the man in the middle of the circle.  
  
The man in the middle of the circle started coughing again heavily. He leaned forward and put his hands on the floor and started vomiting blood. The cloaked men in the circle stepped a few steps back, gasping, looking at the puddle of blood that was forming in front of them with disgusted curiosity.  
  
“What’s the matter with you?” the man in front of the kneeled man demanded in disgust.  
  
It took the man in the middle another minute for the vomiting and coughing to cease. “I think I might be ill,” the man chocked out.  
  
“Serves you right,” the woman said laughing harshly at the man‘s obvious agony. “Maybe you should have been more careful, and not drop the flask.”  
  
“I don’t think it would have worked anyway!” the man on the floor coughed. “Solovyov said it hadn’t been tested yet!”  
  
“Well, now we will never know will we?” asked the woman. “We should kill him for his recklessness!” She drew her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at the kneeling man.  
  
The man got up weakly and, shaking as he did so, turned around to face her. He could barely stand, yet drew his wand anyway as his hand shook. “Not if I kill you first, Pansy!” he mumbled.  
  
The rest of the men took their wands out too.  
  
Pansy laughed mockingly. “We will see about that Goyle.”  
  
“Stupefy!” Goyle shrieked with his voice cracking, but the only thing that came out of his wand was a red spark. “Stupefy! STUPEFY!” he tried again unsuccessfully.  
  
Pansy laughed even harder. “You can’t even stun me! You were always really thick weren’t you Goyle? Ava—“  
  
“Enough!” the man behind Goyle yelled, interrupting Pansy. “We will not kill him!”  
  
Pansy Parkinson gasped, taken aback. “What?” She asked in disbelief.  
  
“We will not kill him yet.” The man who clearly was the leader of the group started pacing around the circle, toying with his wand. “We still need him ... I still need him.”  
  
“B-b-but -?” Pansy tried objecting.  
  
“You are all dismissed,” the Leader of the group said, waving his hand.  
  
The other three men in the circle retreated, stowing their wands in their pockets and disapparating. Pansy looked at the Leader for a few more seconds then at Goyle before disapparating too.  
  
Goyle fell on his knees, coughing. He had blood all over his mouth and hands. He looked shocked at his own shaking hands as he started cleaning the blood on his mouth and chin, only making it worse.  
  
“Go to St. Mungo’s!” the Leader said with disgust in his voice.  
  
Goyle closed his eyes and concentrated hard. A few seconds later he opened his eyes again, with pure horror on his face. “I can’t apparate!”  
  
The Leader carefully grabbed Goyle by his shoulder to not get blood on his hands or anywhere on his clothes and, avoiding Goyle’s face so he wouldn’t cough or vomit on him, apparated to St. Mungo’s.  
   
  


* * *

  
  
 _St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London, UK  
  
20 June 2024_  
  
The squeezing feeling only worsened Goyle’s coughing, and when they arrived at the hospital he fell on the hard marble floor and started vomiting blood again. The Leader disapparated again before he could be seen.  
  
The Healers that were in the corridor looked at Goyle; stunned. The Healers were startled by the sudden appearance of the current state of this vomiting man. They rushed to him, helped him up and took him to the emergency room as fast as they could, pushing everybody out of their way as they hurried.  
  
“Another one?” One of the healers that was in the emergency room said, looking at the state Goyle was in. Big dark bags started to appear under Goyle’s eyes, as if he hadn’t slept for weeks. “He seems to be in a worse state than the others. Take him to room 112, that’s where they all are.” He said to the Healers that were dragging Goyle.  
  
Goyle was as pale as the marble floor and his eyes started rolling to the back of his head has he began to faint from the blood loss.  
  
The Healers took Goyle to room 112. The room was full of beds separated by blinders. They passed by about twenty beds that were already taken by men, women, or children. They all were white as the sheets they were laid on, with a tube in their arms connected to a blood bag, and were coughing and vomiting blood.  
  
The room was full of Healers and medi-witches taking care of the patients, constantly changing their blood bags that emptied at an abnormally accelerated rate, and the sheets that were all blood-stained.  
  
They took his cloak, laid Goyle in one of the empty beds and took a sample of the blood he had in his hands. One of the Healers connected the almost dead Goyle to a floating heartbeat monitor, while the other healer dipped a little white stick in Goyle’s blood, which instantly turned blue.  
  
“A positive!” the Healer yelled. A few seconds later a medi-witch came with a blood bag labelled A+.  
  
The Healer stuck the needle in a vein on Goyle’s left arm and hung the blood bag in a cage IV holder. Just then blood began coming out of Goyle’s nose and eyes.  
  
“Fucking hell!” one of the Healers said in shock. “If they keep losing blood like this, they are all going to die of blood loss! I hope we have enough blood in the blood bank to keep them all alive.”  
  
The Healer who was checking Goyle’s vital signs nodded. “He looks much worse than the rest. Do you think he is patient zero?” he asked before covering his mouth to cough.  
  
“It’s hard to tell, but none of the others look as bad has him. He must be.” The other Healer said, closing the blinds around Goyle’s bed.


	3. No Pureblood Is Safe

_St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies, London, UK  
  
20 June 2024  
  
_ “Please somebody HELP!!” The cries of desperation came from the middle of the Emergency room at St. Mungo’s. “Please!  I think he’s dying!”  
  
The people in the room looked around, startled, for the source of the yelling. Sitting on the marble floor and holding a very pale man, with blood all over his body and clothes, was a very young woman with jet black hair and blue eyes. She was also covered in his blood, crying and rocking his body back and forward, making his arms to hang onto his sides.  
  
“HELP!!” she screamed again, with more tears pouring from her eyes.  
  
Two Healers came running with a stretcher floating after them. They didn’t seem surprised by the scene in front of them.  
  
One of the Healers knelt next to the woman and examined the man. “What happened?” the healer asked, while checking the man’s pulse.  
  
“I d-don’t k-know.” The woman sobbed. “He-he just came h-home, coughing a lot and burning up. J-just half an hour l-later he was on the floor vomiting b-b-blood. By the time I apparated here he was already p-p-passed out.” She started crying again, holding to the man for dear life.  
  
“Miss I need you to calm down and let go of him, or else we are not going to be able to treat him.” The Healer said in a soothing voice.  
  
The woman realised she was holding to the man with all her force, and also that the Healers couldn’t get him to the stretcher. She slowly let go of him, still sobbing and got up. The Healers got the man into the stretcher.  
  
“Miss, do you know what his blood type is?” One of the Healers asked.  
  
“His blood type?” she asked outraged. “He is a pureblood!”  
  
“No, his blood type as in ABO?” the Healer asked, not affected by her snobby tone in the least.  
  
“I don’t know!” she gasped as if it was a stupid question. “Why would you ask that?”  
  
The healers started taking the man to a room with a plaque saying “112” with the woman following closely behind. One of the Healers took the man inside while the other one stood outside with the woman.  
  
“He needs blood. He’s losing blood really fast!” the Healer said urgently.  
  
“And what blood do you think you are going to give him? Why don’t you use a blood-replenishing potion?” the woman demanded with no tears in her eyes anymore.  
  
“The blood-replenishing potion isn’t working. We don’t know why. We think that this disease, or whatever it is, is auto-immune to all the potions, spells, and herbs we have tried so far,” the Healer explained. “We are giving him blood from the Muggle blood bank. That’s where we get all the blood we use here at St. Mungo’s.”  
  
“WHAT?” the woman yelled, she was starting to get red with rage. “YOU ARE NOT GIVING HIM DIRTY BLOOD!” The shouting caused her to start coughing.  
  
“Without it he’s going to die of blood loss!” The Healer was starting to get furious with the woman. It was clear that she didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.  
  
She took out her wand and pointed it at the Healer. “If you think of giving that polluted blood to my brother, I’ll kill you!” she hissed, still coughing.  
  
“Are you feeling alright?” The Healer asked, noticing the woman coughing. He stretched his hand to feel the woman’s forehead.  
  
She stepped back a few inches, her eyes widening with shock. “Don’t you dare TOUCH ME!!” she screamed before dropping to her knees and started vomiting blood.  
  
The healer quickly grabbed her left arm, helped her up and took her inside room 112.  
  
Almost all the fifty beds in the room were occupied. Most of the people in the beds where in an induced coma, but that didn’t keep the blood from coming out of their mouths and noses. Tubes were coming from inside of their mouths and noses to drain the blood; to prevent them from choking on it. Medi-witches were running around exhausted, wiping the blood from the patient’s eyes and changing the blood bags. Some of the medi-witches and healers were even starting to cough and become pale.  
  
 The Healer made the woman sit down on one of the remaining empty beds, next to the one her brother was on. She looked at her brother and noticed that he had blood being given to him through IV.  
  
She looked at the Healer enraged. “What did I say to you?”She demanded weakly. She raised her wand that was still clutched in her right hand, shaking.  “You will take that thing off his arm, or I will kill you!” She coughed out some more blood.  
  
“But he will die, and so will you!” The Healer tried to reason with her.  
  
“I’d rather die, than have a single drop of dirty blood inside of me!” She coughed again. “Do it!”  
  
The Healer looked at her in disbelief. “I can’t!”  
  
She got up, almost tripping. And as fast as she could she ripped the IV from her brother’s arm. The Healer took hold of her arm and struggled with her for the needle. The woman pointed her wand directly to the Healer’s chest. “Crucio!” Nothing happened. “Crucio! CRUCIO!” the woman looked at her wand terrified. “What’s happening to me?”  
  
“That must be one of the effects of this...disease,” the Healer said in shock.  
  
The woman widened her eyes as her horror grew as tears began to form in her eyes. She started to breathe heavily and dropped her wand.  It was a second later that her body leaned forward, and she fell forward to her knees vomiting up even more blood.  
  
At the same time one of the Healers collapsed on the floor, scattering the blood bags he carried in his arms and started vomiting blood on the white marble floor.  
  


* * *

  
 _Granger-Weasley Home, London, UK  
  
21 June 2024_  
  
After getting married, Ron and Hermione bought a two story house in the outskirts of London.  The decoration of the house was very simple, with straight line, in red, white and black. Through the window could be seen a perfectly well-kept garden.  
  
Hermione was taking breakfast and reading the Daily Prophet in the kitchen. Ron walked in followed by Rose. They sat at the kitchen table and joined Hermione for breakfast.  
  
“Where’s Hugo?” Ron asked breaking the silence.  
  
“Skating with his Muggle friends,” Hermione answered robotically without even taking her eyes off the newspaper. “Have you read this?”  
  
“Probably not, I just woke up,” Ron said, stating the obvious, and he took a big bite of a slice toast and directed his attention to the TV that was on mute.  
  
Hermione laid the paper on the table covering Ron’s plate and pointed at one of the articles.  
  
“Hey!” Ron protested, with his mouth full. He looked at where she was pointing and started reading the small article.  
  
                                                 _Strange Disease Strikes  
  
Before the closing of today’s edition of the Daily Prophet, we got the information of a strange disease that just began causing havoc in the wizarding world.  
  
Some of the symptoms of this disease are high fever, compulsive coughing and vomiting blood. If you or someone you know start showing some of this symptoms, please go directly to St. Mungo’s.  
  
We will be giving more information on this disease in today’s Afternoon Prophet._  
  
“Vomiting blood?” Ron asked a little disgusted.  
  
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Hermione picked up the paper and proceeded reading it.  
  
Ron nodded and turned his attention to the TV again.  
  
For the following fifteen minutes the only noise breaking the silence was the sound of Hermione changing the pages of the newspaper and Ron laughing at the muted cartoons on TV.  
  
“Have you thought of what you are going to do, now that you’re out of Hogwarts Rose?” Hermione asked, not looking up from the Daily Prophet and changing another page.  
  
Rose, who was immersed in her own thoughts, almost fell out of her chair, startled, when she heard her name. She looked up, a little annoyed. She already knew that when her mother spoke to her, it was the beginning of a battle.  
  
“What?” She asked nonchalantly, looking at her bowl of cereal, no longer hungry.  
  
“Have you thought of what you are going to do now? And don’t talk to me in that tone,” Hermione folded the newspaper and put it down on the table. She looked at her daughter expectantly.  
  
“Yes. I’m going to work as a freelance reporter,” Rose responded emotionlessly.  
  
“And how about a real job?”  
  
“A Freelance Reporter is a real job!” Rose finally looked at her mother.  
  
“A real job, Rose Weasley, is a thing that gives you a future, and that puts food on the table!” Hermione said with all the patience she could muster.  
  
“Haven’t I told you already not to get into my life?” Rose got up; ready to stomp up to her room.  
  
“I am your mother Rose! Your life concerns me!” Hermione snapped and got up too.  
  
Rose stopped halfway up the stairs.  
  
Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself down. “Listen, there’s a job opening at the Daily Prophet,” she grabbed the newspaper and turned the pages quickly to find what she was looking for. When she found it, she showed the page for Rose to read it. “It’s like what you want.”  
  
“No mum. It’s not like what I want. What I want is freedom. Freedom from you, and from this house!”  
  
Hermione looked hurt by her daughter’s choice of words. “The only way for you to be free from...me...is when you start earning your own money. And that only happens if you have a real job!”  
  
Rose bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying things she might regret.  She turned around again to go to her room.  
  
“It’s either this, or a job as a janitor at the ministry,” Hermione threw the paper on top of the table. “You will not stay here, doing nothing, and wasting your life.”  
  
Rose faced her mother again. If looks could kill, then her mother would be lying on the ground from the expression that Rose shot in her mother’s direction. She turned around and stormed off up the stairs and into her room.  
  
Her room was big and decorated all in white. Her queen sized canopy bed was against the left wall, and against the right wall was a vanity with a large mirror. Next to the door was a closet also with a big mirror. In the wall opposite the door was a big window, at the right of the windows was a desk with a laptop on top and at the left of the window was a small photographer.  
  
Rose closed and locked the door. She then closed the window’s blinders and turned on a red lamp and started working on the photos she and her cousins took on the train back home.  
  
“I’ll show her...”she muttered to herself. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. “I don’t want to talk!”  
  
“It’s me Rosie,” her dad’s voice came from the other side of the door.  
  
Rose gathered the photos and opened the blinders before going to unlock the door and letting her father in.  
  
Ron sat at the edge of Rose’s bed and gestured to her so sit next to him. Rose sat. “Dad you can’t let her do that!”  
  
Ron looked at her for a minute. “You hurt your mother with what you said, you know?”  
  
Rose looked a little ashamed and looked at her feet.  
  
“I know she can be very bossy at times-”  
  
“All the time!” Rose cut him in.  
  
“Yes, but she’s only doing it for your own good.” Ron felt awkward for saying that.  
  
Rose let a sigh escape from her lips.    
  
Ron took a piece of paper from the back pocket of his trousers and unfolded it. It was the article about the job opening at the Daily Prophet. “Better this than the alternative. And you might like it.”  
  
Rose looked at him sarcastically.  
  
Ron chuckled. “Give it a try okay? For me?”  
  
“Okay dad,” Rose sighed.  
  
Ron gave her the piece of paper and left the room. Rose looked at the piece of paper. “I have nothing to lose.”  
  
  


* * *

  
 _The Cave, Unknown Location, UK  
  
21 June 2024_  
  
Inside of the dark and gloomy cave, the cloaked and masked group was forming a circle like the last time. The blood that Goyle had vomited on the floor, in the middle of the circle, had already been cleaned. The group was talking all at the same time.  
  
“Silence!” the voice of the leader echoed, and everyone shut up.  
  
“What happened to Goyle?” One of the men, at the left of the leader, asked.  
  
“He’s at St Mungo’s-“  
  
“Ah, finally went to the crazy ward?” Pansy asked mockingly, interrupting the leader.  
  
“The coughing and vomiting blood...he had the symptoms the Daily Prophet described...” another man in the circle said anxiously. “Do you think...do you think that is the virus-“  
  
“The virus!” Pansy said incredulously. “It was created to attack mudbloods! I’m sure it’s not it!”  
  
“But Goyle broke the flask,” the man continued. “He started showing symptoms right away...”  
  
The leader coughed and everyone turned their attention to him. “Solovyov wouldn’t get it wrong.”  
  
“He said that it wasn’t ready, it hadn’t been tested!” another man said, with panic beginning to show in his voice. “Wasn’t the purpose of the virus to take away all the magic inside them?”  
  
“Yes...” the leader thought for a minute about all the man had said. “Goyle wasn’t able to cast a stunning spell or to apparate...” He coughed again, but this time it took him a couple of minutes to recover.  
  
“But that’s because he is a thick headed-“  
  
“Shut the bloody HELL UP Pansy!” one of the man, in front of the leader, bellowed.  
  
“Sorry, Draco...” Pansy said faking innocence.  
  
Draco just ignored her. “My wife said that all patients that check into St. Mungo’s are either Purebloods or Half-Bloods. But the Half-bloods aren’t nearly as affected by the disease as the Purebloods.”  
  
Pansy huffed in disgust at the mention of Draco’s wife, and crossed her arms.  
  
“But the common symptom among them is the inability to perform any kind of magic.” Draco continued, still ignoring Pansy.  
  
The cave went silent, except for the noise of drops of water falling and the faint sound of the fire dancing in the torches.  
  
“What have we done…?” One of the men at the right of the leader said, starting to panic.  
  
  


* * *

  
 _The Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, UK  
  
21 June 2024_  
  
A cloaked man apparated into a personal library. Around, against the walls were bookcases filled with books in different languages, about different things, and from different authors. The books seemed to be organized in alphabetical order, by author name. This was not an ordinary personal library, it had so many books that it had to be two floors high. A beautiful neo-gothic stairway was connecting the two floors, with an emerald green velvet carpet covering the steps.  
  
The entrance double-door was made of walnut wood, with an “M” beautifully carved in each door. In the wall opposite to the door, was a fireplace which mantel was carved like the Parthenon, in the middle of the mantle just above the fireplace was another “M”.  
  
In front of the fireplace were two emerald green armchairs and in between was a walnut wood coffee table.  
  
In the middle of the room was a walnut wood desk with some parchments, envelopes, a bottle of ink and a quill.  
  
Lighting the room was a big crystal chandelier.  
  
The hooded man took off the cloak and the black mask, revealing a pale man with a pointed face and fine bones; and with pale, white hair and grey eyes.  
  
The man threw the cloak and the mask into one of the armchairs and sat at the desk, coughing. He opened one of the envelopes that said to Mr. Draco Malfoy and read the letter.  
  
Mr. Malfoy,  
  
I’m sending this letter to thank you yet again for another generous donation for our Pediatric ward here at St. Mungo’s.  
  
That money comes in time of great need, as you might have read in the Daily Prophet.  
  
Now, with the money we were saving for the pediatric ward, we can find a cure for this malady.  
  
Hope to find you and your family well.  
  
St. Mungo’s director,  
  
Katherine Willows.  
  
Draco opened one the top drawers of the desk and took out a little rectangular notepad. The notepad was printed on. Draco grabbed the quill, wet the tip on the ink and started writing. The coughing was getting uncontrollable and Draco had to wait a minute for it to stop.  
  
“St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies…one hundred thousand galleons…Draco Malfoy”  
  
Draco took the first page of the notepad, put it inside an envelope, but before he could write anything on the envelope he started coughing again.  
  
This time blood was splattered into the envelope. Draco looked wide-eyed to the blood and started panicking. The coughing was making the breathing process really hard now.  
  
Draco got up and started walking as fast as he could to the door.  He opened the door, with his hand shaking.  
  
At the other side of the door was a big living room, with high ceilings, it had another fireplace similar to the one in the library.  It also had a big velvet emerald green couch and armchairs, and a black grand piano.  Hanging on the walls were paintings of other Malfoy family members, the majority of them were already dead.  
  
A boy in his late teens was playing Für Elise on the grand piano, absorbed in the notes.  
  
“Scorpius,” Draco coughed out weakly.  
  
The boy turned around startled and the music ceased. He looked just like Draco, but 30 years younger. He looked at the state his father was in and sat on the piano bench; shocked.  
  
Draco was pale white, and had blood pouring from his mouth and was shaking terribly.  
  
“Where is your mother?” Draco asked, looking around.  
  
It took half a second for Scorpius to process the question his father had asked him.  
  
“I…I think she’s in the garden,” Scorpius got up and ran to one of the glass doors that led to the gardens. He ran into the garden and returned a few moments after with a woman right after him.  
  
The woman looked younger than Draco. She had light brown hair and blue eyes, and a pale round face and pointy nose. She looked at Draco and her eyes went wide.  
  
“Draco…” she ran to help Draco sit on the couch.  
  
“Astoria,” Draco said before starting to cough out some more blood.  
  
“It can’t be …” Astoria breathed out, horrified. A tear began pouring down her cheek. “I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s!”  
  
She took Draco’s hand and intertwined her fingers with his, and apparated with a loud POP! Leaving Scorpius alone, staring at the place where his parents last stood, with pure horror and shock on his face.  
  
  


* * *

  
 _Leaky Cauldron, London, UK  
  
22 June 2024_  
  
Rose got out of the green flames and into the crowded pub.  
  
Since Hannah Abbott had bought it, the place had lost his dark, shabby and grubby look. It now looked much cleaner, warmer, cozier, and welcoming. The windows had been cleaned, and now the darkness had been replaced by natural light that came from outside.  
  
Rose said hello to Hannah and Neville, whom helped his wife during the summer holidays, and went out into little courtyard at the back of the pub. She looked at the brick wall in front of her.  
  
“Three up...two across...” Rose mumbled to herself, before tapping the correct brick with her wand.  
  
Instantly the brick wall opened to reveal an archway that led into Diagon Alley. The long cobbled street was fuming with excitement. Wizards and witches where walking around, getting out and in the little shops. Rose ignored the fantastic shops and restaurants, and walked through the street until she found what she was looking for.  
  
The building was not as big as Gringotts but it was bigger than the other shops. The outside walls were painted in pearl white, the windows in both sides of the beautifully carved mahogany front door were three stories tall with no interruption.  Just above the door was a huge plaque saying The Daily Prophet in black news lettering.  
  
Rose walked through the open door and into a lobby.  The marble floor reminded her of both Gringotts and St. Mungo’s.  She mused with the thought of every big building in the wizarding part of London having marble floors. In the middle of the entrance was a table with a jar with a huge bucket of white Lilies. At both sides of the entrance were big archways that led to waiting rooms. At the secretarial desk with a young witch behind it, organizing papers and sending little paper airplanes in different directions. Rose recognized those little airplanes, they were memos.  The same thing was used at the ministry.  
  
Rose went to the secretary and cleared her throat to get her attention.  
  
“Just a minute please,” the blonde haired witch said without even looking up.  
  
A minute later the witch stopped doing what she was doing and looked up at Rose. She had blue eyes and used glasses; and her robes where the same shade of blue as her eyes; and she was sporting a little label on her robes displaying “Sarah Dove.”  
  
Rose took out a little piece of paper from her front pocket and showed it to the witch.  
  
“I’m here for a job interview,” Rose said.  
  
Sarah looked at the paper with the information about the job opening.  
  
“Just wait in one of the waiting rooms for a few minutes and I’ll call you right back, okay?” Sarah said in a kind voice as she smiled.  
  
Rose nodded and went to one of the waiting rooms. The room had a radio playing one of the songs from the group The Weird Sisters, purple couches, and a little stand with recent Daily Prophets, Afternoon Prophets, and Evening Prophets.  
  
Rose grabbed one of the Afternoon Prophets from the day before and sat in one of the cushions reading it.  
 _  
Strange Disease  
  
In the Daily Prophet, we gave you the information about a strange disease that has just began causing havoc in the wizarding England.  
  
St. Mungo’s director stated, “We don’t know how this disease is transmitted. We only know that it is fast and highly contagious.” Also that, “We recommend everyone to not come to St. Mungo’s unless it is an emergency.”  
  
According to the Healers at St. Mungo’s, the symptoms are: high fever, cough, coughing and vomiting blood, total loss of magical ability, blood coming from the nose and crying blood, and passing out.  
  
If you or someone you know starts showing these symptoms, we recommend you to go to St. Mungo’s at once.  
  
There were already more than fifty people admitted to St. Mungo’s with these symptoms.   
  
We urge you to not panic. As you’re reading this, the Healers at St. Mungo’s are doing their best to treat this virus.  
  
“We are sending blood samples to all the research institutes around the world, to help us know more about this disease” one of the Healers said.  
  
As for the question about the replenishing potion and other potions effect on infected patients, the Healers refused to give any statement.   
  
In other news, Dr. Grigory Solovyov’s murderer has not been caught yet… read more about this news on page 7._  
  
“Miss! Miss!”  Rose was so absorbed in her reading that she almost didn’t hear Sarah, the secretary, call her.  
  
She looked up at Sarah to find that she was standing right in front of her, smiling.  
  
“You can follow me please,” Sarah said, going toward one of the corridors behind her secretary.  
  
Rose followed her into the corridor, and then up three flights of stairs until they reached a door displaying a label saying “Editor in Chief.”  
  
Sarah knocked on the door, and a second later a voice from behind the door told them to enter. Sarah opened the door and gestured for Rose to enter, too.  
  
“Sit down,” the Editor In Chief said, pointing at one of the black chairs in front of her desk.  
  
The Editor In Chief was a middle aged witch with light brown hair, green eyes, and was short and a little on the chubby side. She was wearing purple robes and half-moon spectacles.  
  
Rose did as the woman said and sat.  
  
“I’m Olivia Stone, the Editor In Chief of the Daily Prophet,” Olivia stretched her hand out for Rose to shake.  
  
Rose took her hand and shook it.  
  
“I’m…Rose Weasley,” Rose said nervously.  
  
“A Weasley,” Olivia said in amazement.  
  
Rose nodded nervously and for the next few seconds nobody said a word.  
  
“I understand you’re here for the job opening,” Olivia started breaking the silence and taking Rose out of her trance.  
  
“Yes,” Rose squeaked.  
  
Olivia laughed at Rose’s nervousness.  
  
“Don’t be nervous, darling,” Olivia said softly. “Now tell me, Rose, why do you want to be a reporter for the Daily Prophet?” Olivia leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms and looked at Rose expectantly.  
  
“I wanted to be a freelance reporter, but my mum made me apply for this job opening,” Rose looked around  She had never been so nervous in all of her life. The word nervous didn’t apply to her, not even when doing her OWL’S or NEWT’s was she nervous.  
  
Olivia noticed the portfolio Rose had under her right arm.  
  
“Let me see that,” she pointed at the portfolio.  
  
Rose looked at her right arm confused as she only just realized that she had completely forgotten that she had brought her portfolio with her. She passed the portfolio to Olivia.  
  
“These pictures are good,” Olivia said, flipping through the pages of the portfolio. “I miss Hogwarts,” she said in a nostalgic tone.  
  
When Olivia finished looking at the photos she gave the portfolio back to Rose.  
  
“How old are you, Rose?”  
  
“Eighteen,”  
  
“What else did you do at Hogwarts?”´  
  
Rose gulped, still nervous.  
  
“I did the report for the Quidditch games during my last four years there, well except for the ones when Gryffindor played; I was the seeker. I also did all the announcements displayed at all the common rooms,” Rose said as fast as she could.  
  
Olivia laughed amused. She raised her wand and without even saying a word a tiny purple paper plane squeezed out of the tip of her wand and flew across the room and through the crack under the door. Olivia then opened a drawer in the right side of her desk and took out a folder, and gave it to Rose.  
  
Rose stared at the folder, confused.  
  
“You’re hired,” Olivia smiled. “Your first job is to go to Russia and follow the Aurors’ investigations about Dr. Grigory Solovyov’s murder.”  
  
Rose looked at Olivia, still confused.  
  
“Sarah will explain everything to you,” Olivia stretched her right hand again.  
  
Rose mimicked Olivia’s actions and shook her hand.  
  
“Send a kiss to your Aunt Ginny for me,” Olivia said before Rose could close the office’s door.  
  
Rose went to the lobby, still dumbstruck by her new job. Sarah was already waiting for her. She gestured for Rose to follow her.  
  
They passed through another door behind the secretary, and this time they went down a flight of stairs, and into a big basement that was full of cases of cardboard boxes. At the left of the door was a cabinet. Sarah opened the cabinet and looked through the various different objects, each labeled with a different city name. She took out a mobile phone with a label saying London, and a blue lighter saying Moscow. Sarah gave the objects to the still confused Rose.  
  
“These are portkeys for you to travel between Russia and London,” Sarah started to explain. “Olivia gave you this job because no one else wants it. She always gives jobs that no one else wants to the rookies.”  
  
The two went up the stairs and into the lobby again.  
  
“Why does no one else want this job?” Rose asked.  
  
“They don’t want to leave the comfort of their desks here at the Daily Prophet,” Sarah said through a laugh.  
  
Sarah opened one of the drawers in her secretarial desk and took out an envelope and gave it to Rose.  
  
“Inside that envelope is Russian money and wizarding money,” Sarah said, sitting on her chair behind the secretarial desk. “And inside that folder is everything that you need to know.”  
  
Rose nodded in shock. She was going to Russia. _  
_


	4. Family

_St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London, UK  
  
22 June 2024_  
  
The Laboratory and Magical Maladies Research department, at St. Mungo’s, was still immaculate since it had been rebuilt the year before. After a volatile potion exploded, destroying the entire south wing of the hospital, that department had been moved to a more safe part of the hospital.   
  
It was a small room, compared to the rest of the departments. The bubbling, steamy and smelly potions made it almost unbearable to be in there. But the two Healers, dressed in white coats, seemed to be immune to it. The room was divided in two by a glass wall.   
  
In one of the sides was the part where all the Potions were brewing. The white walls were starting to turn black in some parts, from the humidity. There were ingredients scattered on the tables and big stains on the marble floor, from potions that had spilled. A woman, one of the two Healers that were working in the department, was cutting asphodel and throwing it inside some of the steamy cauldrons.  
  
The other Healer was on the other side of the glass wall, the part where all the research was made. He was looking through a microscope. Suddenly the Healer grabbed the microscope and threw it to the floor, smashing it into pieces.  
  
“Stupid, muggle micro-thing! Piece of rubbish!” he yelled in anger, kicking the pieces of the microscope.  
  
The Healer that was taking care of the potions looked at him with a scared and questioning look. “Calm down Fintan,” she said, her voice a bit muffled by the glass wall.  
  
“It doesn’t work, Charlotte! There’s nothing wrong with the blood, no changes, nothing!” Fintan said in frustration, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t feel so good.”  
  
Charlotte went to help Fintan. She looked at the broken microscope and sighed.  
  
“Reparo,” she said with a flick of her wand at the microscope and it was restored. “We should send some blood samples to other countries. Maybe they can find something.”  
  
“We need to ask for the Director's permission,” Fintan said, coughing. “I really don’t feel good.”  
  
Charlotte put her hand over Fintan’s forehead, feeling his temperature. He was burning up, and starting to get pale.   
  
"Fintan, you should go downstairs to get examined. I'm afraid you might-"  
  
Charlotte stopped mid-sentence when Fintan coughed blood, spilling it all over her face. She opened her mouth in horror and put her hand on her face, cleaning some of Fintan's blood from her lips.   
  
"Fintan," she said in shock, looking at the blood on her trembling hand, her voice just a whisper. She looked up at Fintan, whose eyes started to roll to the back of his head, as his body collapsed on the floor.  
  
Charlotte screamed at the top of her lungs, kneeling on the floor next to Fintan. She turned his body to his side, so Fintan wouldn't choke on the blood that was coming from his mouth like a waterfall. With tears on her cheeks, she grabbed her wand and swished it over her head. Suddenly all the alarms on that floor of St. Mungo's went off, in a high pitched sound.  
________________________________________  
 _  
The Leader’s house, Unknown Location, UK  
  
22 June 2024_  
  
“Incendio” a man said, pointing his wand to a beautifully carved white fireplace.  
  
The entire big living room was white. In the centre where two big, black silk sofas facing each other stood with a coffee table between them and with tall, thick and cylindrical black candles in random places all over the room. Most of the walls were made of glass that gave the room a light and springy feeling. The glass doors were wide open, letting the warm summer breeze in, making the black organza curtains wave slightly.   
  
The man took his cloak, throwing it to the floor. He looked at the painting of a woman that was hanging over the fireplace, and sighed. He took the painting out of its hang and carefully laid it up against the wall.   
  
Behind the painting was a small steel door. The man took out a small key that he had on a thin chain around his neck.  He opened the small door and took out the content of the safe. Most of it was letters and a small accounting black notebook.  
  
The man threw everything into the dancing flames in the fireplace and watched as every single piece of parchment burnt, until there was nothing except for ashes.  
  
The Leader looked at the ashes for a few minutes, before picking up the portrait. He looked at the beautiful woman in it. His Mother. She looked so serene and so peaceful. It had been painted years before her death. The Years before the defeat of the Dark Lord, matter of fact. She was happy then, but after Voldemort’s downfall her happiness became sour.   
  
He put his hand on her face. The roughness of the canvas contrasted with the softness of her skin, while alive. He had inherited her complexion, as well as the green slanting eyes that reflected cunningness.  
  
He remembered the day of her death so clear, as if it was only the day before. The day she decided to take her own life. She was lying on the floor of her bedroom. A bloody silver dagger in one hand and a simple, small, note on the other with “Goodbye my son,” written in her beautiful handwriting.  
  
He knew why she had done it; Pureblood pride.   
  
The man decided to hang the painting again, before his thoughts were clouded by the ghosts of the past.    
  
The Leader took out a piece of parchment and envelope, and a quill and a bottle of ink from inside a drawer of a console table. He scribbled something and called his owl. When the beautiful, snowy owl came, he gave it the letter and watched as the owl flew into the sky and was no more than a tiny white dot in the horizon.  
  
Taking one last look at the portrait of his mother, he put his cloak back on, covered his face with the mask, the rest of his head with the hood and Disapparated.  
________________________________________  
  
  
  
 _The Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, UK  
  
22 June 2024_  
  
Scorpius was playing the piano like usual. If there was something he loved doing, then that was it. The black great piano was a family heirloom. It was almost falling apart when he found it in one of the closed rooms in the Manor. It looked like nobody had played on it for more than a century. It was full of dust, the wood was chipped and eaten by termites in some places, it was out of tune, and there had been a Boggart living inside.  
  
It had taken two months to fix. After Scorpius found it, he told his mother he wanted to learn to play. Draco wasn't pleased to hear that his son had been snooping around the Manor and getting into locked rooms. But he was more intrigued has to how his son had gotten in the room without using magic.  
  
When finally the grand piano was fixed, Astoria and Narcissa decided it would give the Manor's main living room a more classical and sophisticated look. Astoria hired a wizard piano player to teach Scorpius to play. Though Scorpius loved playing Wizarding piano sonatas, the Muggle piano players were his favourites. He enjoyed anything from Beethoven, to Mozart and Bach.  
  
He was now playing the Presto Agitato movement, from the Moonlight Sonata, by Ludwig van Beethoven. It was neither happy, nor sad. The fast pace of the tune was enough to keep his mind busy. He often played this song when he was trying to keep his mind from thinking about bad things. He had played the same movement when the news about his grandfather's death had arrived from St. Mungo's, two years ago.  
  
His grandfather wasn't his favourite person in the world, but he still loved him. The news hit him like a lightning bolt. He had always thought of Lucius Malfoy to be indestructible, even when he was in St. Mungo's. But the thing that affected him the most about his grandfather's death was the way his grandmother had mourned him. She was usually a caring person, as caring as someone can be when all they thought about was keeping up appearances. She had suddenly confined herself to her room, and almost never went out. It was disturbing.  
  
He often worried that that would happen to his mother. She was a person full of life, she loved being in the gardens taking care of the white peacocks and the exotic flowers. He would often see her under one of the trees next to a small lake, in the Manor's gardens, stroking the dogs’ fur. She was a Healer in St. Mungo's, in the Paediatrics’ ward, and she often tells him how rewarding her job is.   
  
Now, that his father had been admitted to St. Mungo’s, she barely went outside to the gardens and took a leaves of absence from work. He would see her crying sometimes, but when she saw that he was looking she would clean her tears and smile. He knew that his father's internment in St. Mungo's was getting to her. She wouldn't tell him what his father’s malady was, but Scorpius knew. He had read all the articles about this new disease, the White Disease, as they called it now. He didn't know why it was called that way, but he knew that the symptoms were the same of his father's.  
  
When his mind started slipping to his father's predicament, Scorpius lost his way in the music and hit a few wrong notes. This made him angry and frustrated, not even the music could take his mind off his father's state. He snapped; throwing the music sheets that were in front of him on the piano to the floor. Some of the sheets swirled in the air until they finally hit the floor, and stood there all scrambled.  
  
Scorpius took a deep breath to calm himself down. He started hearing a strange sound, coming from upstairs. He got up, without caring about the music sheets, and followed the sound up the stairs. The sound became more distinct, it was crying. It sounded like it was coming from his grandmother's room. He opened the door, and saw his mother and grandmother sitting in the four poster bed, hugging and crying.  
  
His mother, realizing Scorpius was watching the scene, quickly cleaned the tears and took a fast deep breath and smiled.   
  
"Scorpius, you stopped playing," she said in a conversational manner.  
  
"You were crying," Scorpius stated.  
  
"Nonsense, we were just-" Astoria lied.  
  
"You were crying!" Scorpius was tired of this. "Mum I'm not a baby anymore, I'm eighteen years old! You don't have to hide things from me, I can deal with it!"  
  
"Scorpius," his grandmother said in between sobs.  
  
"No, I'm not dumb. I read the news, and I know what's happening to dad!" Scorpius yelled. "Please mum, tell me the truth!"  
  
A new flood of tears filled Astoria's eyes, which broke Scorpius heart. He hated seeing his mother like that, and he would do anything in his power to stop her from crying. He sat on the bed between his mother and his grandmother.  
  
Astoria laid her hand on Scorpius’s cheek and sniffed some tears. Scorpius put his hand over his mother's.  
  
"I promise you," he said. "Nothing is going to happen to him."  
  
Astoria shook her head and let some more tears fall.   
  
"It doesn't have a cure, Scorpius," she threw her arms over his shoulders and cried even more. Scorpius hugged his mother tightly, making a promise to himself that nothing would happen to his father.  
________________________________________  
  
  
  
 _The cave, Unknown Location, UK  
  
22 June 2024_  
  
“Where are the rest?” the leader asked with his deep voice, echoing in the walls of the cave.  
  
“St-St Mungo’s,” Pansy coughed out.  
  
She was slightly curved and shaking everywhere in her body. Her uncovered hands were white as sheets. She coughed again and put her hand in front of her mouth. It instantly was covered with blood.  
  
Pansy took off her mask and hood. Her paper white face was frozen. Her eyes looked in horror at the blood she had in her hand. Blood was pouring from her mouth and sliding down her chin. She started breathing heavily, and shaking her head. A tear rolled down her cheek.  
  
She looked at the Leader in despair.  
  
“Help me,” she said with her voice cracking. She coughed again and fell to her knees, on the dirty stone floor.  
  
The Leader leaned his head to one side and chuckled.  
  
“Why?” he mused, shaking his head slightly. The Leader stopped laughing and looked at Pansy straight in the eye. “You are already doomed,” his voice was deep and menacing.  
  
Pansy started crying even harder.   
  
“Please –“Pansy pleaded again, but was interrupted by the Leader’s laughter, once more.  
  
The Leader took out his wand and pointed it at Pansy, no longer laughing. He uncovered his head and took out his mask.  
  
“You know too much, Pansy.”  
  
Pansy screamed in horror as the green flash of light hit her. Her lifeless body fell forward, hitting the stone floor like a sack of potatoes.  
  
The Leader looked at the body and touched it with his foot to make sure she was indeed dead. He then put his mask back on and covered his head with the hood.   
  
" _Confringo_ ," the Leader said, pointing his wand at the roof of the cave.  
  
He covered his head when the part of the roof, where the spell had collided, exploded in a ball of dust and stone. A second later the cave started to shake like an earthquake, dust and small rocks started to fall from the remaining of the roof. The walls of the cave started to crumble and break.   
  
The Leader Disapparated, before he could be smashed as the roof cave in with a horrible, deafening sound. Stones and water fell over Pansy's body, covering it, making the remaining of the cave Pansy's grave.


End file.
